Page 22 of Her Last Confession

Rachel's lips curved in a grim smile. "Not like either of us is going to get any sleep tonight anyway."

They stood there for a moment longer, watching as the crime scene technicians worked methodically around them, photographing, measuring, collecting evidence. The forest seemed to breathe around them, alive with shadows and whispered sounds. The pod continued to gleam under the floodlights, its surface pristine except for the places where Timothy Walsh had tried to fight for his life.

Rachel felt the familiar tension building in her shoulders, the same tension she'd carried through countless investigations. But this was different. This wasn't just about murder – it was about someone taking people's darkest moments, their most vulnerable times, and turning them into weapons. Using their past pain to inflict new trauma.

The sound of approaching vehicles broke through her thoughts – the medical examiner's team, finally arriving to collect Timothy Walsh's body. Their headlights cut through the trees, creating new shadows that danced and shifted across the crime scene. Soon, the pod would be empty, just another pieceof evidence to be photographed, documented, and analyzed. But Rachel knew the answers they needed wouldn't be found in the physical evidence alone.

They needed to understand EndLight. Their technology, their people, their secrets. Tomorrow, they would begin to peel back those layers, no matter what they might find beneath. Rachel had a feeling that Timothy Walsh's work on the prototype interface was just the tip of a very dark iceberg.

As she watched the medical examiner's team begin their work, Rachel couldn't shake the feeling that they were running out of time. Somewhere out there, the killer was watching, waiting, perhaps already planning their next move. And all they had were questions, each answer leading to two more mysteries.

“Well, what are we waiting for then?” Novak said. “Let’s make our way out to Charlottesville.”

The night grew colder, and the forest darker, as she and Novak headed for their car. As she got into the passenger seat, she looked over to the pod one last time, where the ME was getting his first good look at the body—the second victim of a killer who was apparently smart enough to create these mock suicide pods while also staying several steps ahead of the authorities.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The morning sun cast long shadows across EndLight's nearly empty parking lot as Rachel and Novak pulled in at 8:05. Rachel nursed the last of her coffee, still warm from their breakfast stop at the diner where they'd spread case files across the worn Formica table, piecing together what they knew so far.

That had been an hour and a half ago, a little pit stop where Rachel had also done some basic online research on EndLight, trying to figure out who they’d need to speak to if they wanted the most direct route to useful information. It was there, with an omelet eaten and a second cup of coffee perched beside her, that she’d learned that Diana Tatum was their best bet.

Tatum had been the CEO since EndLight's controversial founding five years ago. She was a former biotech executive with degrees from MIT and Stanford. She had a reputation for not just sitting behind a desk and ordering people around; she was apparently also known for being hands-on with product development. Almost obsessive about quality control.

“Well, there are a grand total of five cars in this parking lot,” Novak said. “I doubt there’s a good chance any of them are the CEO of the company.”

“Well, if not, I did pull her address from the bureau database,” Rachel pointed out. “And the woman must love her job because her address is just three and a half miles from here.”

“Damn, that’s dedication,” Novak said.

He pulled their sedan into a space near the front entrance. The EndLight headquarters rose before them, a structure that seemed to defy conventional architecture. Despite its modest size—just four stories—the building appeared to have been designed by someone with a distinctly modernist vision. Curved glass panels wrapped around the exterior like ribbons, creatingan almost organic flow that reminded Rachel uncomfortably of the pods they'd been investigating. The morning light caught the glass at odd angles, making the building seem to shift and move as they approached, its surfaces rippling like liquid mercury.

Steel support beams, visible through the glass, curved and intersected in patterns that seemed both random and precisely calculated. The overall effect was unsettling—beautiful, but with an underlying sense of something not quite natural, as if the building itself was trying to seduce visitors into accepting its twisted version of reality.

"Looks like something out of a movie," Novak muttered as they approached the main entrance. "The kind where the evil corporation is doing experiments on people."

Rachel shot him a sharp look. "That's not helping."

The main entrance was set back in a curved alcove, its doors made of the same flowing glass as the rest of the structure. Steel accents in matte black provided a stark contrast, including a sleek intercom box mounted beside what appeared to be an after-hours mail slot. The company logo—a stylized "E" that seemed to be breaking free from its own constraints—was etched into the glass above the doors.

Rachel tested the door. Locked, as she’d suspected.

"Sunday morning," Novak muttered, reaching for the intercom. “I doubt this will do any good.”

He pressed the call button once, waited, then again. On the third try, a woman's voice crackled through the speaker, the sound quality surprisingly crisp for an intercom system. She sounded tired and annoyed that she was being bothered.

"This is Miranda Holt, production engineering. Who's trying to access the building at this hour on a Sunday?"

Rachel stepped forward, her voice clear and authoritative. "Special Agents Gift and Novak with the FBI. We need tospeak with Diana Tatum regarding an ongoing investigation. It’s urgent, please. Is she here?"

The silence that followed stretched so long that Novak's hand drifted toward the call button again. Rachel could feel tension building in her shoulders. Finally, the voice returned: "Mrs. Tatum will meet you in the lobby in five minutes. The doors are now unlocked for you."

Novak looked over to her and shrugged as if to say:Sure. I’ll take it.They walked inside, Novak opening the tall glass door and holding it for Rachel as she stepped inside.

The lobby was a study in calculated minimalism that took Rachel's breath away—not with its beauty, but with its careful precision. The ceiling soared two stories high, with a geometric light fixture that cast intricate shadows across the pale marble floor. The shadows shifted and danced as clouds passed overhead, creating patterns that seemed almost hypnotic.

Modern artwork adorned the walls—abstract pieces that seemed to echo the building's exterior design. One particularly large canvas caught Rachel's attention: swirls of deep blue and black that suggested both comfort and oblivion. It was eerily fitting, given what EndLight dealt it. Rachel quickly looked away, disturbed by how easily she'd made that connection.

The waiting area featured low-slung leather chairs in chrome frames arranged around a glass coffee table that appeared to float above the floor. The leather was butter-soft and cool against Rachel's back as she sat down.

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